


I Would Give You Eight

by orphan_account



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Charls the Cloth merchant spoilers, Emotional Comfort, Fluff, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 15:51:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10857165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Laurent’s mouth worked, like he meant to speak.  He sighed, his eyes cutting away, then in the smallest voice said, “Six hours.”Damen almost laughed.  He’d been waiting for this moment.  Laurent’s jealousy was small most days, but Damen knew his past bothered the future king.  All the same, he could not resist.  “It was seven.”





	I Would Give You Eight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mxlfoydraco](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mxlfoydraco/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [I Would Give You Eight](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12010548) by [Alina_Petrova](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alina_Petrova/pseuds/Alina_Petrova)



> I'm working on a massive captive prince fic which is going to be very long, and posted in one-go, but I needed some practise getting back into this world. Charls the Cloth Merchant basically revived my love of this series and ship, so have a little ficlet of these boys being soft.
> 
> I wanted to explore what they were talking about when Charls saw them kissing, and I will never get over, "It was seven." My god, Damen. My god.
> 
> I'm gifting this to Serra who let me yell at her on twitter for a ridiculous amount of time about my AU headcanons, and how much I live for soft!Damen. ILYSM, bb.

It felt like eternity before they had a moment to themselves, and it would be another eternity before it would happen again. And although Damen understood the necessity, and although this mission had been his idea—with Laurent’s touches all over it, of course—he couldn’t pretend he enjoyed spending any moment of his time unable to reach out and touch, kiss, caress, the way he wanted.

He was exhausted, and although it had been a success, and although he felt like he was gaining a foothold against those who would defy him in his quest to end slavery, he wanted a reprieve. There would be little of that, however. Laurent’s coronation would soon be upon them, and after that, it would be the politics of marriage, and unifying two Kingdoms who were fighting to get their people to accept that it was a good, and necessary thing.

Not for the first time Damen felt himself wishing he and Laurent could abdicate—could run off and marry each other, and the Kingdoms be damned. He didn’t truly feel this way, but he felt cheated out of what the commoners had, and he so desperately envied.

For now, he would take this.

A quiet, stolen moment which was necessary as he’d seen Laurent staring at him most of the night, a small, worried frown creasing his brow.

The camp was asleep, and Damen had carefully checked that they were alone before he took Lauren by the hand and pulled him into the small clearing.

“Tell me,” he murmured, keeping his head tipped down close to Laurent’s, his voice low.

“Tell you what? That you were right, and it was a success? Tell you I should never doubt you? Tell you…”

Damen cut him off with a chuckle, helpless and fond and more besotted than he thought he might ever be. “Tell me of this.” His thumb reached up, brushing over the crease between Laurent’s eyebrows. “Something is bothering you.”

Laurent’s jaw tensed. There was little he hated more than being obvious, even if it was only to Damen—who knew him perhaps better than he knew himself. “It is…nothing.”

“It is something,” Damen insisted.

Laurent’s mouth worked, like he meant to speak. He sighed, his eyes cutting away, then in the smallest voice said, “Six hours.”

Damen almost laughed. He’d been waiting for this moment. Laurent’s jealousy was small most days, but Damen knew his past bothered the future king. All the same, he could not resist. “It was seven.”

“It is that,” Laurent confessed. “Is six so cruel a mistake? Is it so important the Kingdom understand the true power of your virility?”

Damen laughed very soft. “Is it perhaps that you are wondering why I have not kept you to myself for seven hours, Laurent.”

“I…” Laurent’s gaze hardened, and his head tipped down, pressing against Damen’s collarbone. “I’m foolish. You make me foolish and I think perhaps I don’t want to marry you after all.”

“You don’t mean that,” Damen said, sure of himself.

Laurent huffed. “Don’t I?”

With tender, careful fingers, Damen cupped Laurent’s chin, easing his gaze up, meeting it with steady, dark eyes. “You do not.” And then he kissed him. A slow press of lips, soft and pliant, a way of reminding Laurent that whatever his past was, whatever his future might have been—it didn’t matter. Because it was this now. He, helpless and in love, and besotted. He, a King with every right to as many lovers as he wished, a harem if he chose. It was expected, and he had rejected it because his heart belonged to Laurent alone, and always would.

He sighed into the kiss, as Laurent’s arms wound round his neck, holding him firm in place, deepening the kiss with a quiet moan of promise with what was to come, the moment they were no longer in disguise, the moment they had peace to themselves.

“We will have time,” Damen promised. “And if you forget, I gave you far more than seven hours. I gave you a week. In the palace.”

The memory darkened Laurent’s cheeks, who gave a laugh—perhaps involuntary, but beautiful all the same, and he shook his head. “We were not making love the entire time.”

“I didn’t make love to the Gladiator for all that time. We shared conversation, and food…”

“Did he fall in love with you?” Laurent asked.

Damen pulled back slightly, his eyes widened with surprise at the question. “Why would he?”

“Because I cannot imagine a person could spend that much time under your gaze, under your touch and affection,” Laurent paused to draw the tips of his fingers along Damen’s arm, “and not fall completely in love.”

Damen softened, his heart thumping hard against his ribs and he found himself enthralled with the idea that every time he thought he understood how much he loved Laurent, his lover went and spoke—and changed everything. He reached up, a steady hand to cup Laurent’s cheek. “I recall spending many hours in your company, devoted as I could be. It took me much longer to win your heart.”

“It did not,” Laurent admitted in a voice so quiet Damen barely heard it over the rustle of the faint breeze. “I may have denied it much longer, and I was afraid for longer than that but…I was yours. It was inevitable.”

Damen kissed him again, then again.

And once more.

They crowded into each other’s space, Damen nuzzling against Laurent’s neck, holding him firm against his body, possessive. “Whatever I have experienced, any lover in my past, they cannot hold a candle to you. You’re my future, Laurent. Whatever else might come.”

“And if I cannot give you six hours…” Laurent started.

“Seven,” Damen corrected.

Laurent huffed, but the corners of his mouth turned up just slightly. “…you will not grow tired. You will not…look to the arena.”

“I will not,” Damen vowed. “I cannot.” His fingers moved gently, thumb caressing Laurent’s cheek, as Laurent moved into the gesture. “You are all that is there for me, Laurent.”

Laurent bowed his head, letting his forehead fall against Damen’s chest, letting himself be held. “Then that is all I need.” He pulled away after a second, his eyes glinting. “But if I wished for seven hours…”

Damen grinned gripping Laurent by the hips, and dipped his head low. “Then I would give you eight.”


End file.
